“You’re remarkably calm right now.” I sipped some water out of my waterskin.

“As all leaders must be.” Isadora answered. “Else they risk the spreading of fear and dissension amongst their ranks.”

The high priestess and I sat on the far end of the temple, while Damien and Illias chatted on the other end, by the altar. The unconscious bodies of Artemisia and Atemu laid at the center of the structure, a decent distance apart.

“We’ve been holding this barrier up for two days.” She sighed. “My priestesses have been rotating every few hours, but they can’t keep it up much longer. Their energy will surely give out by nightfall.”

“So we need to prepare for a fight.” A soreness seized my arm where the arrow had been and I instinctively grabbed it, but there was no wound there anymore to put pressure on.

“Phantom pains?” She tilted her head. “I’ve been there.”

“How come you didn’t heal Atemu or Artemisia like you did me?”

“Each individual recovers from being magically drained in their own way.” She shook her head. “Atemu must recover by herself. Artemisia, on the other hand, can stay unconscious as long as she’d like.”

The two of us sat in silence for some time, sipping our water and listening to the sizzling of arrows as they hit the light barrier. The commands of the Immortals had drawn closer since I got back to the temple.

“Did you find it?” Isadora squinted at me.

“Even though I bought a sheath for it at Abydos.” I nodded as I pulled out a sheathed dagger from my skirt. “I’m still surprised it stayed intact after recent events.”

“I’m not.” She unsheathed the dagger, leaving the covering in my hand. “It’s quite a powerful weapon.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” I set the sheath on the floor in front of me. “Her body was missing by the way. That was all that was in the coffin.”

“So she’s probably alive again. I knew that damned cult would be looking for her.” Frustration lined her voice. “Sometimes even those you’ve grown to hate are worthy of a chance at redemption. I should’ve kept her closer.”

“We can’t afford to have our strongest asset distracted now.” I shifted my sitting position to a cross-legged one.

“I’m flattered.” She placed the dagger down. “You’re right. Thank you for bringing Artemisia to me by the way. I know it wasn’t easy.”

“Why did you want her anyways?”

“That, my dear, is a long answer.”

“Short version?”

“Hmph.” She scratched her cheek. “Every time a blood moon comes around, all the followers of the moon get riled up. It affects their minds ‒ their bodies ‒ so that they are more ‘amenable’ to the influence of the blood moon’s vessel, who would ultimately lead them.”

“So you’re telling me.” I pointed at Artemisia. “She’s the ‘vessel’ or whatever? Why don’t you just kill her then? Why’d you want her alive?”

Isadora shook her finger in front of me. “If a vessel dies, it is reincarnated into the body of someone else, usually from a different culture. But, someone well versed in the art of transferring magical energy can prevent this random reincarnation, and take the power for themselves before the spirit fully leaves the mundane body in search of a new host. All I want to do is prevent the forces of the moon from starting a war, and holding their leader hostage is the best way to do it.”

“How do you know it will work?”

“Because I’ve been doing this for the past twenty blood moons.” Her voice turned stern. “And don’t think any of her actions are not done of her own accord. The spirit of the blood moon simply amplifies its host’s personality. It does not take over their consciousness. Artemisia is fully aware of what she’s doing at all times.”

The light barrier around the temple flickered.

“That’s not good.” I burst to my feet.

Another flicker.

Isadora stood up, closed her eyes, breathed deeply, then opened them. “The disturbance is coming from the southern end, where you and your friends entered.”

The two of us walked over to the source. Illias glanced at me as I walked by him, and as I glanced back at him, he looked away, returning to his conversation with Damien.

“They have gotten bolder.” Isadora growled, bringing my attention back to her.

We reached the southern barrier where the priestess channeled her magic. Directly in front of her, on the opposite side of the shield, stood three Immortals. The middle one had burn scars on his neck and was missing an ear. The three of them wore their usual brown scale armor and trousers, with their tattered capes, but also had bronze shoulder pads, designed with the head of a bull. Their scimitars were drawn and glowing with corruption as they scraped at the barrier, seeing what damage they could inflict. Each time they hit the light, the priestess flinched.

“Behnam!” Isadora half-bowed. “So good to see you again. How’s the neck?”

“Silence, witch.” He snapped. 

“Where’d you get that other scar, though?” She pointed at his head. “I don’t remember taking your ear.”

“The Great King was displeased with my failure.” He slammed both weapons onto the barrier. “Torment was my teacher, and will continue to be so until your capture or death.”

“In that case.” The high priestess grinned. “I wouldn’t get too attached to your other ear.”

He roared as he thrashed his scimitars around at the light, sending pulsations of flickering up and down the shield.

“Come.” Isadora grabbed my wrist and pulled me back inside the temple. “The army has fully crossed the dune bordering the valley and is closing in on us. The Immortals must have gone ahead to weaken our defenses.”

“Why are they even here?” I groaned.

“Best guess is that this was your last known location.” She shrugged. “So Xerxes must’ve decided to siege it in hopes that you were either still here or that you’d eventually come back.”

Damien and Illias had stood up and made their way to us.

“What’s the plan?” The dwarf asked.

“I don’t know.” Isadora exhaled slowly.

“Well.” I scratched my head. “We could funnel them in through one side. Keep three priestesses where they are and just open one side of the barrier. It’s not a complete solution, but it’ll buy us some more time before the entire shield goes down from exhaustion.”

“Leave it to the Greek to solve a numbers advantage with narrow spaces.” She chuckled. “It worked wonders at Thermopylae and Salamis, so what harm is there in trying it again here?”

“He’s not Greek.” Illias muttered.

The high priestess peered at him. “And who are you to say what Theophilus is or isn’t?”

He flinched at her question.

“If a nationless man eats, sleeps and breathes the Greek way of life, is he not Greek?” She continued. “If he bleeds for the Grecian cause of war, putting Grecian lives before his own, is he not Greek? Your ‘label’ does not dictate your loyalty. Nor does it dictate your destiny. Your actions, do.” 

“I, uh‒”

“You’d do well to remember that before passing judgement.” She turned to me. “Now then, Theophilus. Shall we put your plan to the test or what?”